


Lie Down, Lead Me

by icouldnotsee (herprettysleeper)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abusive John Winchester, Alternate Universe - Priests, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dean Has Self-Esteem Issues, Dean Winchester Has Issues, F/M, I Blame Tumblr, It's been a while, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Priest Dean, Priest Dean Winchester, Religious Guilt, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, The reader is an atheist, also, and is super badass, anyway enjoy, but do you know me, but if you watch this show, but..., crossposting from tumblr, how i love him, i should be doing work but priest dean has ruined my life, promised happy ending, yeah - Freeform, you're aware, yup
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-24
Updated: 2017-02-24
Packaged: 2018-09-26 17:16:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9912857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/herprettysleeper/pseuds/icouldnotsee
Summary: Summary: In which Dean is a priest, Sam needs help, and you don’t believe.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr can't just...show me Priest!Dean and expect me not to do something about it. Nope. _I do not have the willpower._
> 
> Hope you like this anyway :)

Dean stares up at the ceiling, his heart pounding hard in his chest.

He tries to calm himself down by playing connect the dots with different points on the ceiling, but it doesn’t work.

He’s focusing on the mediocre architecture to avoid something else, because he’s sure that if he pretends, what has happened won’t have happened.

She lays next to him, and he knows she’s been awake for the last hour, and that she’s holding back tears. He can hear the shakiness of breath, feel the slight tremors, and all he knows is this sense of wrongness, this immense, overwhelming _wrong_ that he wishes he didn’t need to feel. He closes his eyes—

_Dean kneels in the church, next to several other men, and he shakes slightly, but as the older priest goes down the line of men, he understands that he has a duty now._

_He wishes Sam was here to see this, but Sam is smart. Sam was brave enough to escape, to go away to California, to Stanford, to become a lawyer._

_Dean sets thoughts of his brother aside—he promises poverty, celibacy, honesty._

_He can feel his father behind him, smiling, and Dean feels the weight of the responsibility as it sinks down on him, and it’s painful. For a second, he almost feels a crown of thorns on his head._

_After it’s over, his father smiles at him, doesn’t notice the imaginary blood running down his face, and Dean knows it’s because he’s become everything his father wants him to be._

_It feels like death to him._

Dean blinks, back to the real world, back to this disastrous moment. The ceiling is offering no help, and she is lying next to him, and he loves her, but he can’t tell her, and he’s betraying her and his faith and himself and _how the hell did he get here?_ But it’s not fair, because all he knows, all he can feel is…

Guilt.

~*~

**Several Months Earlier**

You’re going to have to figure out a way to punish yourself later for coming here.

Jamie, your sweet, God-loving and fearing best friend, who also believes you need saving from your supposedly devilish ways, is the reason you’re here. To be honest, you have no interest in going to a place to worship a deity you’ve never believed in. But she’s Jamie and she’s all you know and love, so of course, you came.

It actually turns out to be not awful (one time, you had to attend a service that lasted eight fucking hours, because apparently, the days of the Puritans are not over after all), to your surprise. The service is relatively short and it’s really more of a reflect-on-who-you-are thing, and there’s a sort of peace that comes with it. When it’s over, though, you’re glad.

Jamie wants to take you to meet the rest of the members, but you manage to kindly-but-forcefully push that aside. She’s a bit upset, but seeing her friends bounces up again. You smile at her retreating form and head back to your car, settling in the driver’s seat, then start the car.

It sputters.

“Come on, Darling.” You rub Darling’s dashboard and try starting the car again—it fails.

You check the engine—you need someone to jump start it.

You look around, the sun bright and making you squint, until your eyes land on a car—a beauty really, a 1967 Chevy Impala with what has to be an old, but still perfect black finish. Also, the driver’s about to get in, so you run to catch up with him. “Hey,” you say. “Could you help me out? My car’s being a dick—” Your eyes widen as the boy looks at you, and you realize that he’s a priest, he’s a fucking priest and you just cursed at him. “Sorry for my language, sir, er, is that what I’m supposed to call you? Actually,” you say, starting to back up, “I’ma just leave—”

He smiles—it’s charming, but you let it slide. “No problem. You said you need a jump?”

“Yeah, exactly.” You give him an awkward simper back, look over his car, then say, “She’s a beauty.”

The boy—not a boy, you remind yourself, a man, and a priest, in fact—has short, clean-cut hair, and emerald green eyes. He’s like the poster boy for pretty church boys that are always unavailable.

 _Priest,_ you remind yourself.

“Thanks,” he replies. “You said you needed help?”

“Yeah,” you affirm, and he moves his car closer to yours. You hand him the cable and in no time, your car’s up and running.

You smile. “Thanks…?”

“Dean,” he fills in.

“Y/N.”

“Have a nice day then, Y/N.” He gets back into his beautiful car, and drives off. You watch him go for a bit, shove your hands into your pockets, realizing that they don’t exist as your hands slide down the skirt of a dress, then get into your car.

You are _done_ with churches, you decide as you steer your car into the parkway and your phone rings. At the red light, you pick it up. “Hey, Jamie. You okay?”

“No,” you hear, and alarm rises in you. Jamie’s voice isn’t light and peppy like you expected—it’s strained and, at heart, terrified.

You make your voice stern. “What’s wrong?”

“I think…I think this is your sort of thing.”

“Where are you?”

“The apartment.” You’re roommates. “It just got really cold, and things are opening on their own.”

Could be a draft, but… “Okay. Listen to me. Get salt and make a circle. Make sure it’s not broken. Get something made of iron, and if you see it, swipe it. You try to run out, _you will not make it._ Do you understand? I’m coming.”

“Okay… _oh my God, hurry!_ ”

“Jamie?” The line is dead. “Fuck this shit.”

You step on the gas and speed.

~*~

_“Dean! Get your brother outside as fast as you can!”_

_Dean’s running, and his mother is burning, but his dad said to run, so he clutches Sammy and he runs and he runs until the cool night air envelopes him._

_He looks up—all he can see is gold._

_His father comes down and scoops both of them, but his dad’s always been religious, but now it’s worse. Growing up, all he hears is about repenting, salvation, the evil that is romance and the sin that is sex, and Dean never does anything right._

_But Sammy never buys it. Sammy believes, but not the way his father does, and he leaves, he escapes, and Dean will never, ever admit it, but he’s glad. He’s ecstatic that Sam will get the chance at a real life._

_But with Sam gone, there’s only one person for his dad to focus on._

_So with every strike, Dean reminds himself that it’s all for the greater good._

~*~

You burst into the apartment, and the first thing you notice is the broken salt circle— _fuck_ —and the fact that Jamie’s nowhere in sight.

“ _Jamie!_ ” You call out, running into the room. She better not be hurt, or else—

“Jamie! Where are you?”

You hear a slight squeak and run towards the cabinet, opening it. The girl whimpers, and you yank her out. “Listen to me. Did you recognize the ghost?”

“Yes, she’s Old Marjorie.” You almost roll your eyes—only in a small Southern town would there be a _Marjorie._ “She died of a stroke way back, and it was awful when we found her. Blood was pooling out of her mouth—”

“A stroke? You’re sure?”

“Or it was a heart attack. I’m not sure.”

 _Or, she was poisoned so someone could get her inheritance._ “Okay. But we need to get to the car, and we need to find her grave. Do you know where she’s buried?”

“Yes, I do— _behind you!_ ”

You turn and grab a spoon, throw it at the ghost, who flickers away.

You have to fight off a ghost and get to a grave.

~*~

Dad hasn’t been home three weeks.

Dean has been on edge since the end of the first three days, because his dad _never_ takes that long unless the drive itself is longer, and this case was only an hour away. Dean was working something somewhere else at the time, just a small salt-in-burn in town when his father left, and now, he isn’t home.

Dean’s called maybe ten times per hour since after the first three days, but—

He gets a call, puts it to his ears. “Bobby?”

“I’m gonna need you to team up with another hunter, alright?”

“What?”

“You heard me. Distress signals at the Marlow’s house, got it? In your neighborhood, I think. Vengeful spirit.”

“A name?”

“No, but the connection went out. Go!”

“Got it.” Dean puts his phone in his pocket along with his worries and gets into the car.

~*~

When the door swings open, the violent wind flooding the house, you know the meager salt circle is not going to hold.

You grab an iron crowbar, swiping at the ghost when it appears, but you need to—

“Hey!” The voice is human. The boy—priest—runs inside. “Do you know the name?”

“Yes. Marjorie Parker, just hurry, alright?”

Dean nods and tosses you something heavy—a rock salt gun. “Thank you,” you say. “Go!”

He nods once, and darts outward.

“What did you do to anger her?” you shout to Jamie.

“I don’t know—my dad and her didn’t get along.”

Of course. _Of course._

“Okay, I need you to stay still, don’t—”

A scream, and your body locks up.

You close your eyes before spinning around.

 _Dean, hurry,_ you think.

~*~

_“I’m done with you, Zack,” you start, throwing your bag over your shoulder. “Bye.”_

_“No. Don’t go.”_

_You ignore him, until you hear the click of a barrel. You turn slowly around, with the expectation to see a gun aimed at you, but no. It’s to his head._

_You’re tempted to leave anyway, but then his blood will be on your hands._

_“You don’t want to do this,” you warn. “Don’t.”_

_“I can’t live without you,” he cries out and this has been a mistake, this whole relationship was a mistake from the very beginning._

_“Okay. Put the gun down, and I’ll stay.” You put your bag down. “See? I’m not leaving.”_

_The gun wavers. His eyes flicker, and you’re scared. “You tried to leave me.”_

_“No. It was a mistake, and I’m sorry, okay? I—”_

_A shot rings out and fiery pain flames through your arm, and you want to scream, tears streaming down your face._

_“Don’t leave me. Don’t ever leave me.” He comes near you, and you don’t flinch as your body goes into shock._

_And for what you wish was the first time, you wish you were dead._

~*~

The ghost approaches faster, and you’re going to be out of rounds soon.

Jamie cries as you shoot, over and over, and what annoys you the most is that no one is here, no one cares enough to check out the commotion. You’re always the one who has to do the saving.

Digging graves takes a lot of time—you could be here for hours.

 _There is a God,_ Jamie said to you once. You almost laugh at the thought of it. Yeah, sure.

~*~  
Dean works as fast as he can, but it still takes a long time for the grave to be open.

 _Would be faster if Sam was here,_ he thinks, a bit resentful, but he slams open the casket, salts it, pours gasoline over it, drops a match.

“Sayonara, bitch,” he says in the privacy of the cemetery, and the bones go up in flames.

~*~

When the ghost screams in agony as it goes up in flames, you drop. “It’s over,” you assure her. “We’ll clean up tomorrow.”

“It isn’t coming back, right?”

“I swear it.”

Jamie nods, smiles. “Thanks.”

You smile back at your best friend. You’d been confiding in her since you were six years old, and when you were thirteen, you told her the full truth, and she believed you without hesitation.

“I really—I’d rather not sleep here.”

“Yeah, I see your point. I’ll drive you to your parents.”

“Thanks, Y/N.”

“No prob.”

At the door to the apartment, you bump into Dean. “So, priest _and_ hunter.”

He simpers. “I guess you could say it kinda goes hand in hand.”

“I’m sure.” You stare at each other for a moment, until you break the silence. “I gotta take Jamie home, so…”

“I’ll see you Sunday, then.”

“Probably not. I’m not exactly a believer.”

He raises an eyebrow, and you motion to Jamie, who’s slowly making her way down the hallway outside your room. “She is.”

“Then…I’ll see you around,” he offers.

“Sure.”

You follow your friend, holding onto the memory of those green eyes until you get behind Darling’s wheel.

~*~

Dean wakes up to the sound of someone slamming on the door to the small house.

He blinks the sleep from his eyes and opens them as he makes his way to the door, throwing on a shirt as he goes. Of course, there’s a knife in his right hand, and he opens the door slowly. “Hello—”

The door widens and his brother collides with him in a hug, and cries.

“Sam?” The shock runs over and through him in seconds. “Hey, Sam. Sammy. What’s wrong?”

“Jess.”

Dean tenses, pulls his brother away from him. Tears run down his little brother’s face, and Dean softens his voice. “What’s wrong?”

“She’s dead.”


End file.
